


End of the Line

by dangerkittyn



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe - Noir, Gambling, M/M, Multi, OT3, Prostitution, Violence, criminal elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7416961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerkittyn/pseuds/dangerkittyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Wonsik is tired of his job, he's tired of the corruption in the police force, and tired of being shut up. How can he take crime off the streets when it was ripe and swollen inside his own department? It's enough to drive a man to drink. But the End of the Line bar houses more than just a lot of alcohol. Something's not right about the slightly sad singer Lee Hongbin or the mysterious bartender Jung Taekwoon. Just how much was Wonsik supposed to blind himself before he broke inside? And where is the line between what's just and what's right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write a fic featuing singer!Hongbin, and hardboiled detectives are kind of my thing, plus hot bartender!Leo is my favorite Leo. Stuff it all together in a dramatic intrigue noir story and tah dah! Grizzled WonTaekBin!~

There wasn’t much in town Assistant Inspector Kim Wonsik hadn’t seen. From being a fresh faced recruit on the force to his recent promotion, he’d seen the shit that man did to man on a regular basis. The small and petty things, the large and obscene. You got numb to it, or at least he did. Maybe if he spent a little time ruminating on the idea he’d have been saddened by the fact, but that would suggest he’d spent time at all on introspection.

The truth was, the inside was just as corrupt as the out. And year after year of seeing it poison and bloat its way through the ranks in the department just took the wind right out of a guy’s sails. Nobody cared what he did anymore, so long as he wasn’t trying to cause waves. No one wanted to see him at another disciplinary hearing, or so he’d been told. Keep quiet, serve his time, take home that paycheck, wash, rinse, repeat.

Only 23 and already jaded. Somewhere inside him there was an 18 year old crying, but he couldn’t really be bothered to care. It was hard not to be absolutely weary when everyone in the precinct knew he’d only gotten his promotion to keep him quiet. Squeaky wheel gets the grease, was how the saying went. A ‘friendly’ reminder that he should just shut up and focus on the small shit in the form of a nice pay increase, and leave all the ‘confusing’ details to his superiors.

Great, now he was part of the corruption too.

Was it any wonder he spent his nights with a glass of liquid fire in his hand and a vacant look on his face?

No one hassled him as he walked the cracked sidewalk down a less respectable street in his district. The street lamps, or the ones still in service, flickered and buzzed to keep him company. Anyone in a mile radius in that part of town could smell the cop on him and made their business elsewhere. And Wonsik, for his part, let them.

The shadows in the alleys seemed to grow longer the further into the grimy neighborhood he walked. He kept the collar of his jacket turned up and his hands shoved into the pockets, posture hunched as his breath puffed small vapors in the autumn air. His hair was growing too long, the soft black locks he had to shove back to stand at an odd angle just to keep it out of his eyes.  The stiff starch in his shirt and pants had long since faded away and if he wasn’t careful he looked a little rumpled at the worst of times. But again, no one really cared or even bothered to notice. Least of all his partner, who, of course, was going to handle everything for their latest case.

Nothing like feeling the metaphorical door shut right in your face.

Still, an early night meant he wouldn’t have any trouble getting a seat at the bar.

Those small victories, the silver lining so to speak.

The End of the Line was exactly what it sounded like, the last stop for those who had a mind to lose their cognitive thought processes. It was quickly becoming one of Wonsik’s favored haunts, which probably said something about his state of being.

For what it was, the establishment was downright fancy. Not keen on the flashing lights and loud clashing music that kept the young crowd around, instead it was exactly what it said it was. The end of the line, last stop for those who were looking for that last shot to oblivion. Most nights there was live entertainment, a singer with piano accompaniment and some crooning jazz tune. It wasn’t drawing in the crowds but Wonsik had to admit he’d come to crave listening to the singer a bit.

The neon sign was buzzing, and it seemed like the ‘n’ in ‘Line’ was beginning to dim. Wonsik took one more glance around the street, empty of everything, it seemed like he should have been able to hear the wind howl. Inside he could hear the gentle thrum of sound against the heavy double doors.

Melodious tinkling of piano keys accompanied by a rich smoky voice greeted him as he pulled the door open. The metaphysical tendril of sound slithered out to wrap around him and pull him inside. It wasn’t large inside, and it wasn’t much to write home about. Past the coat room, a glorified unmanned closet, was the long split level room that served as the lounge. Along the left wall, in the sunken part of the room, was a well worn wood bar, high backed leather seats dotted along the counter while a handsome wood shelf system sat behind it. Tables and chairs scattered around the lower portion, while the floor raised up to the stage. A slightly rounded outcropping with lights along the edge. A medium grand piano took up most of the space, where a lone microphone stand was manned by the singer.

The atmosphere inside the bar was lax, nearly laid back, but not exactly in a comfortable way. More like a given up hope kind of way. It seemed appropriate. People there weren’t in the mood to chat, huddled in around their drinks, lost to themselves or the music.

Not that Wonsik could exactly blame them, it’s what he’d planned to do after all. He ambled his way to the bar and set down at the end closest to the stage, a good two seats away from the nearest patron. If any of the regulars there had fingered him for a cop no one had made a fuss about it. The usual bartender came over in no rush. He was tall despite his slouched posture, wide shoulders and blood auburn hair that’d grown just slightly too long, hanging down to almost cover one eye, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and a skinny black tie around his neck.

He wasn’t much for words, as Wonsik had discovered. Not like the bartenders at other clubs who’d stick around to have small talk or lend an ear. No, he was more like a sentry, long eyes roving the bar, quick to assist those who came to sit and then back to watching and waiting. Most people appreciated it, Wonsik included.

“Gin and tonic,” it’d been the same drink he’d ordered since stepping into the establishment, but the bartender didn’t make assumptions. Wonsik liked that. With only a nod, the man turned his back to him, reaching from memory for the bottles he’d need.

Years of experience had made Wonsik naturally analyze the people around him. The man two stools down was already past half drunk, and looked to be sleepy on top of it. The bartender was tense with the knowledge as well. Wonsik had yet to see a bouncer, so he had to wonder if the man took care of problem customers himself. But he also couldn’t remember a night that anything more than a raised voice had taken place. Something about the bartender seemed to silence others, and even as finely tuned a trouble antenna as Wonsik’s, he’d yet to be able to place the tall man. He was a mystery… Wonsik hated mysteries, especially ones he had no excuse to solve.

Around the tables were those who came for the drinks or for the entertainment. It was a fairly obvious divide. The ones there for the music couldn’t tear their eyes away from the stage, or the handsome young man on it. The only star of their stage, though he had no billing outside of the club, Lee Hongbin sang nearly nightly on the stage. Smooth, deep voice haunting the spaces, somewhat sad, somewhat lonely, just the right amount of need. He wore red. The slacks and jacket almost too bright over the black shirt, the top few buttons artfully undone exposing his collarbone. His hair always seemed slightly wet, dark locks hanging into his eyes.

Addicted? Maybe, maybe he came to the bar just to hear him sing, or look at him, god knew that he’d taken his fill every night. Watching those slightly smoky eyes sweep shut as his adam’s apple bobbed, small hands clutching the microphone stand as he sang about loss. Was it the emotion he felt a deeper connection to?

“Your drink,” the bartender’s light voice always took him off guard, soft, quiet, not at all what he’d have expected. The glass he placed on the bar was clean and clear, the ice making an almost cheerful clink that sounded out of place in the lounge.

“Thanks,” Wonsik dug in his pocket for his wallet, “start a tab?” His badge fell onto the bar, as he tugged his wallet free. Pulling his card from it’s well worn slot, he glanced up to see the serious bartender’s eyes glued to his slightly dulled shield.

“We’ve passed inspection,” again with the soft tone, but it wasn’t difficult to take the meaning under the words. He didn’t want trouble, and a cop usually meant just that. It also had Wonsik’s metaphorical hackles rising. Years on the street had taught him one thing, people quick to make excuses were usually hiding something. “We don’t have trouble here.”

“Not here for a sting,” Wonsik quickly stuffed the badge back into his jacket, annoyed that it’d been spotted at all. “Just a drink, and the tab, thanks.” Both of them eyed each other warily, suspicion obvious on either side as the man behind the bar sized him up anew. An uneasy stand still.

Long, spindly fingers took the card from him, the suspicious gaze tearing away from him to start the account. That was certainly new. Wonsik didn’t like it. It was going to be more than a pain in his ass if there was something shady going on there. He could already hear the upper brass dismissing his claims.

Annoyed once again, he let himself forget it, at least for the time. There were more important things to attend to, such as his drink and the sultry tone of the song playing. He could only hope that whatever it was the bartender was playing at, he’d be smart enough to keep it from being waved in front of Wonsik’s nose.

Worries melted away though, as did most else as he began his trek toward oblivion. The burn of alcohol suited his mood. Why not burn it all to the ground? Giving up was hard, but giving in was easy. And when the singer seemed to almost beckon him with his eyes to fall into the trap of his song, Wonsik gladly let himself. Tumbling deep, cocooned in the crooning of a lost lover, the no good scoundrel, who took a piece of him.

One drink, two, four, he was losing count. If the bartender was annoyed with him it sure didn’t stem the flow of liquor. In almost no time at all he could tell the set was ending, the mood had gone even more mellow than before. Almost closing time. Wonsik normally didn’t last until then, and it bothered him slightly that he had this night.

Eyes vacant, his brain told him that he needed to get up, but his body refused. The echo of sound seemed to bounce around his skull, a haunting melody. There was no point in staying, not really, with Hongbin off the stage and the shop in it’s twilight hour.

“Gin and tonic,” he heard a voice beside him, deep, not the bartender and he blinked sleepy eyes to see the singer propped up on the seat next to him, offering an almost sweet smile for the bartender. It was a departure from the soulful or sinful looks he gave on stage and Wonsik felt himself sink a little. Just stay a little longer, just until he finished his drink.

The singer waited, face propped up on his fist against the bar top. Wonsik continued to steal small glances guiltily, becoming more and more aware that the distance from bar to the stage didn’t do the man’s face justice. There was a certain perfection to it, one that almost felt false, everything too in place, too right.

A small clink as a glass so similar to his own was set against the polished wood, and Wonsik diverted his eyes elsewhere. Maybe if he’d been watching he’d have seen the other turn to him, offer a smile and raise his glass. “Not a bad set, was it? You’re here often, so you’d know right?”

Too much alcohol and no inhibitions. He wasn’t equipped to handle that face looking at him.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Wonsik a few moments to realize the question had been directed to him. His tongue felt thicker than it should have been, sluggish. And even though he’d been drinking his wits weren’t normally so slow. Somehow he’d faced down the toughest and meanest thugs in the district but the slight uptick smile of a singer with a dangerous bead of sweat rolling down his cheek all but turned him mute.

There really was something eerie about the boy, his eyes seemed a little too wide, his jaw almost too square, his neck too thick. It shouldn’t have worked and yet it did, all forming slightly off pieces to a beautiful puzzle. For some reason that made Wonsik even more wary of him than he had been before. His senses didn’t like feeling like they were being tricked.

“Yeah, yeah it was good.” Wonsik searched for something to say, but he was already a little offput that he’d been noticed let alone marked as a regular. For the most part he’d attempted to stay off the radar and keep to himself. “You always sing such sad songs.” Though he wasn’t sure what else to expect. The place seemed to cater to the destitute, or else why would he be there?

The singer dragged his finger through a small puddle on the bar top, swirling the liquid around for a moment in little patterns. Wonsik wasn’t sure that he was going to reply at all until he spoke up, that deep rich voice just as clear when he wasn’t singing, but not raising his head to face him. “Are they sad?” A soft huff escaped his lips, beading the water on the bar and pushing it away. “I guess. They seem normal to me.” A hint of a dimple teased out of the singer’s cheek as he wheezed out another soft laugh. “Maybe that says something about me?”

It probably did, but Wonsik didn’t feel as if they were close enough to say such a thing. It wasn’t his business, whatever brand of loneliness or sadness that ate at him, but it made him wonder again at just why he felt drawn there. “I wouldn’t look too deeply into it.” He offered and tipped back his glass again, finishing off the dregs of his… seventh? It was hard to be sure. “A lot of songs are sad, guess they fit the mood of the place.”

Another pause as the other considered his words. “I guess this is a sad place too.” He didn’t sound offended by Wonsik’s off the cuff remark, more like resigned. “A sad singer with a sad stage. So, does that make you a sad customer?” Wonsik felt more than saw the way the young man edged closer, head tilted just to the side, neck arched just slightly. Almost inviting, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted by the slightly sweat damp expanse of skin. Not that he’d ever actually consider it though. “I’m Hongbin, by the way.” He reached out with one small hand waiting for Wonsik to reciprocate. “Lee Hongbin.”

“Kim Wonsik,” he’d expected Hongbin’s hand to be soft, at the very least a little hesitant, but there was an unseen steel in his grip that had Wonsik re-evaluating his opinion of the fair skinned man. Observant, a little deceptive, and still that fine gloss of sadness that he couldn’t quite place. “I guess I am a little sad, but aren’t we all in a way.”

“That’s a pessimist’s view, Wonsik,” Hongbin chided but it sounded more like a statement than any kind of appeal to a better nature. “Is that why you come here a lot? Misery loves company?” It was a bit too nail on the head to feel comfortable with. “I’ve been watching you, you know? You usually seem really closed off from the rest of the bar.” Wonsik could say the same about nearly every other patron there. “But you want to pretend your mind is blank when in reality you just look really stressed out.”

It didn’t bode well that he’d been so obvious about it. Shrugging, it was Wonsik’s turn to play aimlessly with his empty glass. For a stranger Hongbin wasn’t shy about saying what was on his mind, but there was almost something comforting to it. “I think everyone has stress too.” A part of him wanted to explain why, to just dump all over him and get some room in his chest to breathe. But it felt a little cruel; he was sure that Hongbin was only being friendly to a paying customer in the way a bartender was supposed to but the one employed there didn’t.

“You like being mysterious, don’t you?” Hongbin smiled at him, eyes turning crescent like before he turned his attention to his drink. There was a certain fascination when a man displayed drinking talent like the singer’s; he lifted the glass and drained it in one shot. Wonsik caught himself watching his adam’s apple bob and glanced away. Mysterious? He’d never really considered himself much like that. Most people thought of him as an open book, but being vocal at the department was a long ways off from where he was. The soft click of the glass hitting the bar top sounded too loud. “Want to go out?”

What? Wonsik blinked at the sudden question, one brow rising high on his forehead as he scrutinized the fair faced singer. He’d swear he must have misheard him if it hadn’t been extremely clear. “I haven’t paid my tab yet,” the words stumbled out of his mouth as he opened it to reject the invitation, heat from the alcohol rose in his cheeks to color them red. He’d been coming to the bar to keep his solitude not gaining company. Even if that company came in the form of an attractive man.

“I’ll find it for you.” Wordlessly Wonsik watched as Hongbin hopped off his chair, lifting up the passage at the end of the bar to pass through. With practiced ease he dug around behind the bar, fingers flipping through pieces of paper as the normal bartender had seemingly disappeared for the moment. In fact, taking a look around, Wonsik realized nearly everyone else there had as well. When had that happened and why hadn’t he noticed? “Got it!” It wasn’t all he’d got, Wonsik thought as he watched the smiling boy palm a few bills from the tip jar. Wasn’t his business… or so he told himself. “Wow, rough night, huh?” He heard more than saw the smirk in his voice as he rang up the bill, “you should tell me about it when we go out.”

“Where are you going?” the main bartender’s soft voice floated around the corner almost before he did, a damp hand towel slung over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled as if he’d been running his hand through it. Those ever watching eyes paused to dart between the two of them and if Wonsik wasn’t mistaken he very definitely sneered at him.

Without even sparing Wonsik a glance, Hongbin handed over his card and receipt to sign. “Oh, you’re still here, Taekwoon?” It must have been the bartender’s name, “I’m going out with Wonsik tonight.” He had never agreed to that, but kept his silence, scribbling his signature along the line and handing the paper tray back.

“I don’t want you to,” it was very definitely a sneer now, and it was directed Wonsik’s way. Something tense was in the air, of that he was sure. Were they related? Lovers? He couldn’t tell, but there was more than what the eye could see going on.

For a moment it seemed as if Hongbin would protest, the pretty boy look he’d kept on his face since sitting down next to Wonsik dropped away in an instant. Nothing drastic but a sudden wariness seemed to enter his eyes, his chin lifted a cm or two, and the smile dropped away, it made him look older than Wonsik would have initially guessed, and much less harmless. The two of them shared a look, of what he wasn’t sure but something unsaid passed between them. And then in a blink it seemed to disappear and the slightly soft and sad flower boy was back.

“Guess I’ll have to take a rain check on hearing about it.” Hongbin smiled once and tucked the receipt Wonsik had returned to him away next to the register.

“We’re closing.” Taekwoon’s eyes darted toward the exit, urging Wonsik to get the hint. He crossed his arms over his chest, once more the imposing sentry there to keep watch. It all just rankled Wonsik a bit. He wasn’t stupid, there was something hidden there, something neither of them wanted him to see. And his instinct told him it would be nothing but trouble. But how was he supposed to just ignore his gut.

Easily done, according to his department inspector, he thought with a grumble. But it wasn’t just that easy.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he stood, a little tipsily, and brushed down his jacket, turning the collar up once more on his way out. No, something wasn’t right there at all and it made the bridge of his nose itch to find out. The very definite click of a lock followed him out, once more on the empty street, with the silence that the stillness of night brought on.

There was something strange going on between those two, maybe even the bar itself. Leave it alone, he thought, it’s what his superiors would have told him. Wonsik hated mysteries, but he was sure as hell going to solve this one.


	3. Chapter 3

The events at the bar were still bothering Wonsik as he made his way home. The conversation with Hongbin played on repeat in his mind as he took the subway to his station. Some of the things he said, they just didn’t sit well with Wonsik. The metal tube of a train car swayed this way and that, moving the passengers about like reeds in the wind. And there Wonsik was trying to figure out just what had happened. It didn’t help at all that his brain was still mired in gin, the start of a headache thrumming behind his eyeballs, the grind of the wheels against the track scraping along the inside of his skull.

Maybe he should have been grateful for the bartender, Taekwoon’s, timely interruption. Something told him that staring too long into those wide brown eyes was akin to staring too long at the sun. You’d go blind and lose your mind. Not that the bartender’s eyes were any better. Narrow and accusing and suspicious. No, Wonsik didn’t like it one bit, and he just knew in his gut that they were hiding something. Something they really didn’t want a cop to find out about.

The train car jarred and Wonsik’s head banged against the window, sending pain radiating out in near crippling waves through his head. Serves him right really, he’d chosen to go to End of the Line specifically for it’s low key nature, it only figured that it was a cover for something.

Forget about it. He told himself, letting his body shift and sway with speeding train coming to a halt. Wasn’t his problem, he hadn’t seen anything suspicious, by all accounts he could just let it go. That’s what his boss would want him to do. That’s what his boss would _tell_ him to do.

Fuck that.

Wonsik groused to himself all along the short walk from the subway to his small studio apartment. The gentle crunch of fallen leaves under his shoes kept him company and his steps in time. A far cry from the slightly tarnished streets that End of the Line was found on, Wonsik had elected to keep his roost in a slightly better class of town. Pretty little iron fences, well trimmed hedges, and street lights that actually worked. Maybe that meant he lived in a spit of a room the size of a bucket, but a little peace of mind and the lack of constant gunfire was worth it.

Beneath a small but at least functional light, Wonsik huddled inside his own jacket, blowing warm air into his hands to get his knuckles loose. The cheerful beeps of the apartment building keypad seemed to be mocking him as he poked a near frozen finger at them, the chime signaling success only served to make his head throb a little more.

Blessedly no one was around at the late hour to observe him. If it was all the same to the world, he’d rather keep at least the illusion of dignity. And sweet Mrs. Nam in 309 didn’t need to see the ‘brave detective’ she was so delighted to be neighbors with stumbling home drunk out of his mind. It’d be one hell of a capper to his night though.

Safe behind the door of apartment 307, with the lights mercifully off, Wonsik allowed himself to exhale, slumped against the wall. The thought of drumming up the energy to shed his clothes and shower before bed was nigh unthinkable. No, he’d rather like to just curl up on the floor and imagine the night didn’t happen.

But that wasn’t the responsible thing to do, and Wonsik wasn’t so far gone down that hole that he couldn’t at least drag his ass to his bed and fall face first onto that instead of the floor. Stumbling slightly, he nearly tripped over his own gangly legs and into the folding screen that separated his bed from the rest of his studio. That’s what he got for going around that way, having deemed the kitchen island as a hazard to knees and stubbed toes.

Struggling out of the sleeves of his jacket, he tossed it to the corner to join the myriad of other jackets he owned, none of them having seen a hanger in a long time. He toed off his shoes at the end of the bed and reached a hand almost a little too late to slap the bedside alarm on. Not that anyone would notice if he showed up on time or not, but he had digging to do. Maybe it sounded like an old cliche, but now that his nose was itching, he was gonna sniff around until he found out just what went down at the End of the Line.

The last thing he saw before passing out was the hint of skin at the base of Hongbin’s throat, but Wonsik didn’t have the energy to curse.

\---

“Ahhh, I can’t believe you stopped me tonight.” Hongbin whined, kicking a pebble along the grimy street, fists stuffed inside his thin jacket. A slight shiver coursed through him with the autumn wind nipping at his nose. “Since when do you have a jealous streak?” A crooked grin spread across his face, erasing all sense of the delicate boy from the stage. He knew all too well, that there was no way that was the case. “I think we both know you know better than that, Taekwoon.”

Beside him, bundled inside a leather jacket and slouched against the wind, Taekwoon lit what was probably his 3rd cigarette since leaving the bar. “He’s a cop.” The words hung in there as he let Hongbin absorb what he’d said. Licking his lips once he slipped the filtered end of the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and drew in the familiar taste of tobacco, letting the smoke slip through his system before curling out of his mouth in wispy tendrils. “Don’t want you associating with him.” Cops were nothing but trouble, trouble and red tape, and he was all but sure this one was suspicious of them already. “We’ll have to cancel Saturday.”

And that was trouble in it’s own respect, Taekwoon thought darkly. Though his face remained passive, moody thoughts passed through his eyes. Of course, there was no winning choice in this scenario, but what else was new? It was hard to remember the last time they weren’t in some dire situation with nothing but wrong choices at their disposal. True, he had trouble thinking of a time in recent memory that was worse than this, but still, it was business as usual.

Hongbin’s face fell, the smirky attitude gone in a blink and replaced with a stern expression. “I can usually pick them out.” The cold breeze swept through to eat his mutter and carry it away. “And you know that we can’t cancel Saturday, we already have confirmations. It’d be even more trouble if we tried to reschedule.”

“More trouble than being discovered?” Taekwoon scoffed and sent him a dark glare, but the other man just shrugged once, impervious to it. Hongbin never did have much sense for business. “There’s no way we’re not going to be under watch for the next week, no thanks to you.” Ash fell in soft flakes to the ground as the cigarette between his lips moved with his words. “I thought we’d agreed you were full up.”

“What can I say?” Again, the fresh faced boy was back to smiling, voice teasing in its post work huskiness, the momentary seriousness of the matter having washed over him. “He was pretty, and looked lonely.”

“You’re sentimental now?” Taekwoon sneered and took a deep inhale from his cigarette before blowing out a stream of smoke toward his companion. “He doesn’t even look rich, and tips like shit.” It wasn’t like Hongbin at all to be so susceptible to such factors as ‘pretty’ or ‘lonely’, something had to be up, and it rankled Taekwoon that he was only just seeing it now. Maybe they’d both been spending too much time in their own heads.

Broken shards of glass crunched under foot as Hongbin rounded the corner into a darkened alley. The scrape of it was almost comforting in its familiarity. “He reminded me of you.” A fond tone filled his voice, as his eyes slanted into crescents, a remembering smile on his face. “A little apart from the rest of the world and obviously at his rope’s end.” Casually, the dark haired singer shuffled closer to his friend and began to walk in step with him. “Remember, that’s how we met.”

Taekwoon could remember. He didn’t want to, but he could. Neither of them had been at their best. If he’d known then what he knew now… maybe he would have walked away from the wide eyed boy. But life wasn’t about maybes, and chances were Hongbin would have been in an even worse position if they hadn’t teamed up. “Except I wasn’t a cop,” it was a pretty big distinction in his opinion, “and we helped each other. That one’s only going to cause trouble.”

“You’re such a downer, Taekwoon.” But there wasn’t any negativity to Hongbin’s words as he playfully nudged the other man with his elbow. “Maybe if you’d just let me do my thing we wouldn’t even have to worry about him cause he’d be on our side.”

“You’re not that cute.” But he slid a hand around the singer’s waist all the same, finding comfort in the familiar touch and proximity before slipping his fingers back into his pocket to dig around for the house key. The door to their home wasn’t anything special, the whole building wasn’t anything special. Dull stone with small grimy windows, with chain link fences on either side. “You’re just going to do it to spite me, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But it was a lie and they both knew it. Doing as he was told had never really been Hongbin’s strong suit. Plus, there’d been something about Wonsik, something he couldn’t quite place, but it was… easier to breathe near him. He wasn’t lying when he said that the melancholy police man reminded him of Taekwoon, not in any sort of tangible way, nothing so bold that he could place his finger on it. More like a feeling of comfort, a sort of broken quality. They were all a little broken.

Taekwoon shot off another glare toward Hongbin, and used his shoulder to help unjam the door after he’d unlocked it. Their space wasn’t much, the building was narrow but tall, which just meant a lot of stairs. The living room and kitchen dominated the first floor with an old metal spiral staircase leading up to the second floor and Hongbin’s office and further up to the third and the master bedroom. “You only bring me trouble.” Voice soft, Taekwoon reached out to run his tapered fingers through Hongbin’s hair, ruffling the mess of black locks.

“Argh,” Hongbin pulled back, a distasteful look on his face as he arched his neck to escape the meddlesome hand. “Talk about trouble.” He shed his jacket and hung it up dutifully on the rack nailed into the wall, holding out his hand for Taekwoon to hand over his own leather coat. “You know I’m still working, jerk.”

Right, work, the playful mood ebbed away from Taekwoon as he shrugged from his own coat and let Hongbin hang it. Couldn’t ever forget that no matter what, they still had their life of wrong choices ahead of them. “Go get cleaned up, I’ll send your 3 am up when they get here.”

Already checking himself out in the ornate hanging mirror next to the coat rack, Taekwoon watched as the transformation settled around Hongbin. Flicking open the top button of his shirt, and working his hair back into shape. An almost clouded look entered his eyes, and Taekwoon knew that Hongbin was already letting himself disappear under the act. He offered a seductive smile to Taekwoon as he passed by, taking the steps to the spare bedroom, his ‘office’.

Sometimes it was fun to forget that they were who they were. Sometimes it felt nice to pretend that their life wasn’t a series of least wrong choices they could make. But pretending to forget wasn’t going to help either of them, and neither was getting someone who could haul both of their asses into jail involved. Taekwoon would have to bring it up again, but he knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere. Hongbin could be stubborn like that.

Blowing out a breath and stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen counter, he flipped open the book that kept Hongbin’s appointments along with the ledger. Taekwoon could remember how they’d met alright, how could he forget when the gorgeous boy with the wide eyes had asked him if he wanted to fuck him.


End file.
